


The Letter

by ShippyAngel



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippyAngel/pseuds/ShippyAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stella is injured during a misson, Mac is forced to face his feelings for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I mean no profits with this story. The show and its characters belong to their owners.
> 
> A/N: English is not my mother language. So please, take it easy on my grammar mistakes.

_St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital – 3 a.m._

Flack, Danny and Lindsay were standing in one of the halls of the 7th floor. Neither one of them felt like saying a word. But their faces showed fear and worry and something else that could only be felt and truly understood when we're living a moment of despair and uncertainty.

Flack was the first one to see their boss running towards the group and, with eyes wide open, Mac asked, "Where's Stella? How is she? What the hell happened? When...?"

But none of them knew what to say. Not because there were too many questions at once. Mainly because there didn't have the answers.

Danny stepped towards Mac and said:

"Apparently, there was an assault going on at 70 Park Avenue and a bunch of officers went there to see what was going on and... well, Stella was accidentaly there and tried to help and she was hit."

Mac flinched and closed his fists as if he was about to hit the guy who shot her.

Lindsay put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly and whispering:

"Let's worry about who did that later. Let's concentrate on bringing her back."

"Yeah, Mac" Danny added "I think Lindsay's right. The freaking bastard is behind the bars. Stella tried to get him and he got mad but... There were cops there and they got him and we'll fucking deal with him with our own hands but now we need to..."

"I just need to know how she is.", Mac abrupdly interrupted him, stretching his neck to try to get rid of the tension, but not succeding. He would succeed when he looked at Stella alive in front of him. And healthy. "I'll kill the guy with my own hands later. But now I need to see her."

"She's on surgery right now."

"Mac, you look very tired. You were on a mission yourself. Go home, take a shower and..."

"I AM NOT FUCKING LEAVING WITHOUT STELLA!", he yelled, closing his eyes next, already regretting his abusive tone but not being able to help it. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just..."

"It's okay, Mac. We.... we understand, we're all stressed and worried. Let's just stick together until we know if she's better."

"But did you see her? Was she conscious?" it would have been scary for them to see Mac losing it without trying to hide. But they knew how close him and Stella were and, even above the obvious, they were all affected by the whole situation.

As time goes by, partnership becomes friendship and people become sort of family to one another.

"She lost a lot of blood from what we heard."

Mac divided the group, almost as if they were on a mission again.

And maybe they were.

But soon the doctor, head of surgery, came to give them the details and odds of Stella's recovery and the guys decided to take shifts in staying around, Danny and Lindsay went home, Flack stayed and they convinced Mac to drop by Stella's place to take some clothes, for the moment when she woke up.

 

* * *

 

_Stella's apartment – 5 a.m._

 

Mac opened her door with the extra key she gave to him months before and it didn't take him two seconds to close his eyes, feeling surrounded by her smell all over the place.

Her living room was a bit different from what he remembered and he started looking around, paying attention to every single detail. His mind was playing tricks on him, as if she was there as they played hide-and-seek and God how he wanted it to be true, no matter how foolish it sounded to his own ears.

But Stella never showed up, obviously – his reasoning never failing him, not even when it was humanly acceptable. Not even then.

He went straight to her bedroom, touching everything, feeling the need of getting away as soon as possible, not to feel the need of never getting away from there: from her smell, her detailed decoration, her personality fixed in every little thing of her house. Her picutres hanging on the walls; pictures of the two of them, of the team and one with a group of friends he never met.

Life is ironic when it gives us a will to have everything we never had just when we can't have it anymore. Mac, all of a sudden, wanted to know things and histories of Stella that he never even thought about asking.

He opened her closet, misteriously knowing where her clothes could be, a bit uneasy when touching her underwears and picking one of them up without choosing. Mac did that as if he was a man on a mission, never fading, never hesitating.

But then he saw her bed undone, he risked taking her pillow and, without thinking, Mac smelled it, feeling as close to her hair as ever before, the sweet smell evading his nostrils without permission. And falling on her bed, then, crying like a son who just lost his mother, a friend who lost support, a man who lost his constant. And Mac was really feeling all of that at once, not understading exactly where that wave of emotion came from and, losing his so famous self control, Mac let out:

"Don't leave, Stella. Just don't. Oh God please. Not again."

He said the words without thinking about the meaning they held behind.

And his tears remained on the pillow and his body was lying on the matress and his head was spinning and hurting and... and Mac fell asleep.

 

_6:02 a.m._

...When he opened his eyes, he cursed himself for falling asleep. There was no time for such thing.

Immediately, he got up and grabbed Stella's bag with the clothes he picked. He looked around, blinking his eyes and almost seeing his partner walking around the room: running because she was late for work, getting dressed, singing in greek, drinking strong coffee... And the picture itself brought a smile to a face that didn't want to smile, just wanted to hold on that mask of control.

Mac just couldn't help feeling guilty then.

He called Flack, warning he would be in the hospital right away but, before Mac could leave the place, he saw a perfectly folded papper that didn't seem to fit the messy room.

Again, he smiled.

And he went towards her bedside table, without the intention of ever evading Stella's space, but unable to stop himself and it was there. A well-know and beautiful drawing calligraphy written:

_**Mac.** _


	2. Chapter 2

_Stella's apartment – 6:03 a.m._

Mac read his name several times, to make sure that he was reading it right. He licked his lips, torn between satisfying his human curiosity and following his strict sense of ethics.

"Why does she always have to be so unpredictable?" he whispered to himself.

Somehow that letter belonged to him and he knew that, not only because his name was written down.

His fingers carressed the thin paper that was lying forgotten on her bedside table, almost hidden between a book and some pieces of her jewelry.

"Forgive me, Stell, but I gotta...", he said, not resisting the urge to know what it was but feeling as if she was standing beside him with her arms crossed and the look of a mother disapproving her son's behavior.

Mac carefully opened the folds of the paper, reading the lines written by his friend's perfect handwritting, like her life was depending on it.

Oh, hell, like his life was depending on it.

 

" _Dear Mac,_

_I wonder what you would say if I had the guts to show you this. I wonder if you would call me crazy for writing it or if you would stare at me with that you-never-cease-to-amaze-me-Bonasera look._

_And I just wonder because there's too much of you that I still can't read._

_I once wondered if things would change if I was different. But then I accepted that this is who I am: Stella, the greek woman who feels more than she's supposed to, who speaks without thinking of the consequences, who drinks too much and sleep with the wrong guys and who shows her emotions to anyone who's sensible enough to see them._

_I'm also the woman who fell in love with her best friend._

_And that was a long time ago, when I was left to see how strong your bond with Claire was and, unable to deny it, to feel forced to step back. And I felt jealous and I felt like a monster for doing so. And then she was gone and I felt even worse._

_And I swear to you I tried to suffocatte all of this. I swear I tried to swallow this sadness of people who know too much of what they souldn't know about and to hide, at all cost, my innapropriate feelings, to prevent myself from ruining this amazing friendship that we have built._

_And despite everything, Mac, I forgave myself for falling, because it would be impossible not to. Impossible to see you behave like a hero 24/7, helping people you don't even know (and some that you do), never asking for anything back. To share every day with you and not... letting it happen._ _And still to allow muself to be thankful for you letting me grow so close to you, getting to know this incredible and rare man that you are._

_I wonder how different things would be if you loved me. Not as you do now, like a friend or a sister you can lean on and support. But really love me, Mac, as I love you. It's a vain possibility and it's so selfish of me to expect it from you._

_But I can't help but wonder..._

_I still lie awake at night, thinking what it would be like if you were here. And knowing that I would be completely yours at the moment you looked at me, insinuating a "let's go?"._

_It's useless and tomorrow I'll be there beside you, fixing your tie, pushing you to go on dates with other women and pretending I couldn't care any less. When I do._

_And it's killing me._

_And I wonder why I miss you so much right now when we've just seen each other, missing your eyes and looking at you up and down and feeling your arms around me when I'm down. And making you smile. And, god, Mac, I wonder if I was crazy to hear you whisper "love ya, stell" in my ear the last time you held me. And I wonder why I waited for a kiss after that – a kiss that never came, but left the nostalgic memory of something that is over in someone who doesn't want to forget it._

_I think I'm wondering too much, Mac, when the only fact is: I love you._

_Do you ever wonder?_

_Yours,_

_Stella."_

As Mac read it, he could almost hear her voice filled with honesty and frustration, and his eyes were filled with tears that went down his face, tracing a single line that he erased with his fingertip.

It's stain stayed there, though, marking his well-shaved skin.

Mac took a huge breath and sat on her bed, reading the letter all over again.

After an hour, feeling the shock of a kid who suddenly discovers the world's greatest secret, both challenging and scary, he walked out of the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks later

 

_Central Park - 5:30 p.m._

"This is my favorite coffee in the whole city but that's not why you brought me here. Is it?" Stella questioned, knowing better than to push Mac to say something when he didn't want to, but unable to stop her need to understand what was going on.

Their shoulders were touching, every once in awhile, as they walked side by side through one of Central Park's camps, until Mac picked a bench for them to sit in and talk, away from other people who were having their own fun.

Mac didn't reply; he just stood there quietly, as if he didn't hear her. And maybe he really didn't, lost in his thoughts. But Stella knew him better than that. If he was staring at the black liquid in his cup it was because there were some nagging thoughts running through his head.

He got up, looking out in the horizon, rubbing the back of his neck. And, by analysing the whole scene, she realized he was trying to relieve his tension, but in vain. After what seemed like an eternity of indecision and internal battles, Mac spoke softly "I've got something that belongs to you."

Stella arched a brow as she went from wonder to curiosity, while Mac reached for his pocket, taking a still perfectly folded paper from it. Her face, then, went from shock to inevitable acceptance. Stella took it from his hands, fingers accidentally touching, without fixing his eyes with her own.

She unfolded it and carressed the words written there, just like he did in her place, knowing by heart each and every one. Mac just stood there, stunned by her natural beauty and waiting for her to show some disapproving.

But she didn't and, after a couple of minutes, staring at a paralyzed but careless woman, Mac asked "Aren't you going to yell at me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Mac hesitated "That's not the point." He shook his head. "Aren't you feeling...?"

"What, Mac?" Stella interrupted, annoyed. "You think I should be mad because you went through my stuff and found this? Or to be assamed because you read my oh-so-secret words, uh?", she added, in her most sarcastic tune. "It was obvious, really."

Their breathing sounds were easily audible as they both searched for the words. To Mac, Stella should have been angry, resentful or something. Anything (!) but act like she acting then. Maybe it was easier for him to deal with her that way, maybe that was how he pictured having that conversation with her.

What he didn't know is that she had had many of those converstations in her head as well. And, God, maybe it was due to the drugs or maybe it was way before them, but Stella was just so exhausted from painful and sleepless nights that she could barely sit in that bench without crawling.

"I just..." he tried to explain. "I hate myself for opening that letter."

She looked up, reading him, trying to understand the exact meaning behind his words. "Why, Mac? Because you're the by-the-book kind of guy and it kills you to have finally broken some rules, even if just this smallest one, by finding a note while choosing a pair of clothes? Or is it simply because the truth hurts?" she let out a frustrated sigh. "Why, Mac?"

"Maybe both."

Mac slid in the bench, closer to her than he was before, his knees intimately touching hers. He was moving his cup in circles, watching his moving coffee getting cold, as if the syllabes were written there to help him out of that one. But they weren't. And her voice was so honest and open that startled him out of his musings when she whispered "What is it, Mac, that scares you?"

He frowned, almost hurt at first. The words, then, sunk in, as he accepted and understood their meaning. Their true meaning.

"Because you've sort of moved on from the whole Claire thing. In your own way. Right?" Her voice caught in her throat but she fought the knot tied there and proceeded. "I mean, you took off your ring, like... what, months ago? And you flirt with other women, you've dated Peyton. So what is it, Mac? Is it me?!"

Mac left his cup in the wooden bench to bury his face in his hands, not quite enjoying the direction that the whole thing was taking and realizing that no matter how many times you picture a situation, it never quite happens that way. You can never predict things and calculate every single reaction when it comes to people. Not everything is exact science.

Impulsively, then, he took her left hand in his right one, in a desperate sign and raised it, touching her wrist and feeling her skin against his forehead. "Nothing is wrong with you, for christ's sake." He, by speaking, understood that, no matter how hard, nothing seemed so easy as releasing a hidden confession, like he was doing right then. "It's just different."

"Different?" she demanded.

"I dunno, Stel. It just is." He shrugged with his shoulders. "I can't compare Peyton or any other women and whatever we've had with what we do. Me and you. I mean..." Mac swallowed deeply "It would never be just sex. It could never be. There's too much to lose and God, Stella, I though it was just me, a guy spending too much time and sharing too much space with a woman. It would have been ok to just fantasize about it, about you, about... you know? And I could keep myself away as long as... it was just that."

"Just attraction and nothing more?"

Mac agreeded with his head.

"But it isn't?" she pushed him, trying hard enough not to persuade him of her truths. But she knew, she learned thrgouh the years, that it wouldn't have been right.

He swallowed once again, trying to make the knot in his throat diseappear, letting his eyes move along her body curves. "So what brought this up, Mac?" he went still, drewing her scent as the wind left him with no other choice.

Mac Taylor got up from the bench, his knee cracking as he did so, which brought a smile to the corner of his partner's lips. Nervously, his fists were clenching and unclenching, while he gazed at the clouds far away.

"I saw you lying there through the glass window. There was blood all over the room." He paused, taking a huge breath. "I went to your place to get some clothes and... Hell, I swear the place has 'Stela Bonasera' written all over it: the chaos, the smell, the colors, the life. It's all you. And I was affect by that and I never wanted to get out of there and I don't even remember the last time I felt that." His supressed revelations were finding their way out of his chest and Stella couldn't quite believe it. Her eyes were drowned in hot tears but Mac kept going. "And I wanted to get back to that fucking hospital and to take you in my arms and... and I knew these foolish thoughts would be over as soon as you woke up." He faced the ground. "They always do."

The air was getting cold as the sun was setting behind the trees. But there was too much going on between those two people for them to feel what was happening around, to feel anything but them. Right then and there. Alive and safe.

"But?" she sensed there was something more.

"But I went to your bedroom and you bed was undone, which is no surprise, since you're the least organized person I have ever known." They laughed, bitterly, sharing one of their many secret jokes. "And I saw your clothes, your books, you jewelry, your pictures. Everything supposely in its place, waiting for you to come back. And I almost could see you there, pacing from one side to the other, working, calling your friends, doing whatever it is that you do. And I realized that I don't know that much of you and I wanted all of you." Mac grimaced. "And then I thought  _'I don't do this'_  and I saw my name written in a piece of paper and I debated on whether to reach it or not."

"And apparently you did."

"I did" he stated the obvious, with his back to her so she wouldn't see his also drowned eyes. "And I felt so mad."

"Mad?" she felt intrigued.

"Hell, yeah." he sustained, a bit too loud. "I could almost hear your voice saying the words, reinforcing how lucky you were to have me, when all along, Stell, I was the lucky one. And reflecting on how much of a coward you were, when actually I am the one who refuses to admit that I'm in love with you."

She gasped, realizing he spoke the words aloud as the awesome power of the naked truth, lying right before her eyes, was beyond anything she had ever felt.

"And I hated reading those words because..." Mac hesitated, fearing his words could become true. "because I thought it was too late."

Stella got up, needing to understand. That was the moment. They had opened a door and, if they didn't break it down, if they didn't force things to change, they would sink back into the life of make-believe they were leading. She came from behind and she held his frame, letting her head rest in his broad shoulders. "But it's not too late, Mac. I'm here. And you're here." He caressed her arms that were around him, tracing her long fingers with his fingertips.

He felt better like that.

So he turned around and he strained to catch her evasive stare. One almost as tall as the other so their breaths were mingling as they searched for each and every emotion they carefully hide along the years. And hiding is definately a matter of practice. Until it loses their fun or meaning. It becomes a tragedy, then.

And more than papers, it was the truth unfolding in front of them.

Mac Taylor held Stella Bonasera in his arms, careful not to hurt her injury even more. "Does it hurt?" he asked, stroking her back, feeling his anxiety receding. She said no with her head, making her curls caress his face.

Nothing ever felt more right to him or more secure to her.

Their lips brushed and Stella whispered, repeating his previous words, at the beggining of that conversation.

"I've got something that belongs to you too." She whispered close to his ear, nibbling it gently.

"Hell, what now?" he replied, rolling his eyes, with a smirk on his face.

Stella took his right hand with affection and put it on top of her breastbone, letting him feel the beating of her heart, one expressing to the other what no letter in this world possibly could.


End file.
